Better In Time
by ShadowDanseur
Summary: Scully is having a hard time dealing without Mulder.
1. Trinkets of Memory

**Author's Note: Just an idea as to how Mulder's absence affected Scully, and how she attempted to cope and deal with it. Also, for my purposes I am making Monica and Scully pretty good friends already, because I think that Monica was a great female foil for her. And I just love how the two of them get along. Leave some thoughts! **

**Spoilers: None, really. Well, maybe for season nine, cause it talks about Mulder's funeral kinda.**

**Disclaimer: Not mine, not mine, not mine. I keep trying, they keep shooting me down. Pish.**

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**_Chapter 1:_**

Scully was sitting at her computer, staring blankly at the screen. She had been going through some old files on her desktop, trying to free up some space on her hard drive. It was boring, tedious work, but it kept her busy. Now that she was on maternity leave, she didn't have a whole lot to occupy her time. She had found old case reports from some of her very first X-Files cases and read through them, smiling to herself as she remembered each one.

A hand wandered to her swollen belly. The baby was quiet tonight, which was a relief. The little one had been active these last few days, and she needed the time to rest. She thought about Mulder, wondered if he had been an active baby. There were times she wished for a different life. Well, not different life, just different circumstances. In another life she and Mulder could be married, and happy to be expecting their first child. His mother would be different, warm and caring, sharing stories with Dana about when she was pregnant with Fox. Life would be good; a little less complicated, a little less of a fight.

She heaved a heavy sigh. She didn't know why she had started to think about these things, but she wished she would stop. It made her heart hurt to think of the way things could have been. Should have been - they deserved more, deserved a shot at being a family and being happy.

Her mother, God bless her soul, was trying to help. She kept telling her to hang in there, that it would get better. That it wouldn't always hurt like this and that eventually she would be able to move on. Scully didn't want to move on. She wanted Mulder, wanted their child and their life together.

Her computer dinged and caught her attention. When she glanced at the screen, the ghost of a smile crossed her face. A dialog box was open on the screen, an instant message.

**TLG: Isn't it a little late for you to be awake?**

**DSCULLY: Frohike?**

**TLG: All three of us, actually. How ya doin?**

**DSCULLY: Today is a little rough, but not bad. **

**TLG: You on maternity leave now?**

**DSCULLY: Yes, and going out of my mind.**

**TLG: It's for the best. You should get some rest.**

**DSCULLY: Since when did you all become doctors?**

**TLG: When we took the online course. ****J Hey, Scully?**

**DSCULLY: Yeah?**

**TLG: It'll get better, in time. **

**DSCULLY: Thanks guys, but I don't want it to. We deserved more; we deserved to be a family.**

**TLG: Yes, you did. Night.**

**DSCULLY: Night**

She logged off her instant messenger and stood up from the computer. There was an insatiable ache in her chest, enveloping her heart. She moved into her bedroom, flipping on her bedside lamp and leaving the overhead light off. She needed comfort, and she knew just where to find it.

She moved to her closet and pulled out an old shoe box. Pulling off the top, her eyes fell upon a familiar sight. The inside of the box was filled with an assortment of pictures, hospital bracelets, trinkets, two pennies fused together and a myriad of other things. She fondly called this Mulder's box. Well, at least she called it that to herself anyway. She carried the box over to her bed and sat down, spilling the contents onto the comforter. She had done this many times since Mulder's disappearance, and then his funeral. The things in the box were her physical reminder of him and their relationship.

She took great care and time with the pictures. Most of them were candid ones from cases that she had managed to pilfer over the years, so she had quite a collection. There were pictures of just Mulder, of both of them engaged in some conversation or another. They looked so young, even though some of the pictures were only a year or two old. Still, the people in the pictures seemed so young to her. So unaware that their time together was dwindling, coming to a close.

Scully hadn't even been aware that she was crying until a tear fell onto the back of the hand holding the pictures. The tears didn't fall quickly; instead they took their time, seemingly weighed down by the grief they carried. It was fitting, she thought, that even her pain was paying its respects.

She put the pictures down and continued to sort through the box. There were little notes written in Mulder's handwriting. Most of them were short, probably written while she was on the phone. Things like 'What's for lunch?' or 'Out for coffee, want some?' were the most common ones, but there were also the ones that had been meant to make her laugh. 'Let's buy Skinner a toupee!' was still one of her favorites and made her laugh every time she read it.

She glanced at all the remnants of their life together, remembered all the things they had and had not shared. She had wanted so much more, and had always thought she would have the time. That it could wait, and they would get around to it when the time was right. Now here she was, alone. Forever separated from the only man she could or would have spent the rest of her life with. Even still she could feel him, as if his spirit clung to her. She wanted to believe that it did, in a way, wanted to believe that he was still with her in any way he could be now.

She wished there was someone for her to fight, someone she could blame for his absence. One of the most frustrating things about all of it was that she had nothing to do with her anger, no one to turn it against. Hers was an aimless anger, an arrow that had no target. Some days it would just build beneath her breast like a rising tide, threatening to wash over her. She had wondered sometimes why she didn't just give in to it; those were her darkest days. The really hard days, when she wasn't sure how she managed to keep going. Those were the times when she was the most thankful for the support system that had grown around her: her family, Skinner, the Gunmen, Monica and even Doggett. She didn't lean on them often, but she knew that she could. That they would be there for her, and that they wouldn't ask questions if she asked them not to.

Scully began putting everything back in the box, slowly, lovingly. This was a ritual for her. She'd caress the pictures and play with the fused pennies, read his notes over again and recommit his handwriting to memory. She was determined not to forget.

The loud shrilling of her phone caught her so off guard that she jumped and nearly threw the pennies across the room. Her heart thundered in her chest - who would be calling her this late?

"Hello?"

"Dana?"

"Monica? Is everything okay?"

"Yes, everything is fine. I just got a call from the Gunmen, actually. They asked me to see if you were okay, said that you might be having a rough day."

"I'm sure it was Frohike's idea," She replied, chuckling softly

"It was all three of theirs, actually. They're all worried about you. We all are."

"I know," She answered quietly, almost sheepishly

"Since you're up, would you like some company?" Monica offered

"I was just getting ready for bed, actually," Was Scully's reply, "But we can talk for a few minutes."

Truthfully, it had been a hard day. She needed someone to talk to, someone that would understand. There was no one more like Mulder that she knew, and that alone made it easy and comforting to talk to Monica. The fact that she was a genuine and good hearted friend was an added bonus.

"I keep having these thoughts of what things could have been like in another life," Scully began slowly, "How different we would be. Is that strange?"

"I don't think so," Monica said honestly, "It's natural to wonder what kind of life you would have if you had made different decisions. You know, Dana, Buddhists believe that all life is suffering. That they are born and reborn until they right the mistakes they made in their past lives, thus learning the lessons they were set out to learn. They believe that all pain carries a lesson, and that until they learn that lesson they are destined to bear that pain over and over again."

"So you're saying that there's a lesson I need to learn from this?"

"I'm saying that, no matter how much it hurts, there is something to be taken away from this. The love that you and Fox shared is something most people will never experience in their whole lives. Your bond was spun of silk and strong as steel, forged by the fires of passion and loss and love. That love is something no one can ever take away, or sully or erase. Maybe that's the lesson; to remember your love, and grow from it, and share it with your child."

"Have you ever thought about being a poet, Monica?" Scully queried

"I tried. It doesn't work. I can come up with some great stuff on a whim, but when I actually try and sit down to write it out I get nothing but a blank page. Now quit trying to change the subject."

"It's just hard," Scully said, her voice breaking, "I can't wrap my mind around it. I can't rationalize it away, can't turn to science for the answers. I don't even feel like I can turn to God on this one, because if I do then that means that He had a hand in it. That He saw fit to take Mulder away, and I can't bear that anger. Not along with everything else. None of it makes any sense, Mon, and it tears me up."

"I wish I could help, Dana. I wish I could give you the reasons why, could give you a solution, but I just can't. I don't know if any of us will ever understand why he had to be taken away. I do know that his love for you will never fade, that it will span the gaps of time and distance and eternity. There was nothing in any world that Fox Mulder would not have done for you. That truth will have to be your strength now. But he didn't leave you alone, Dana. He gave you a child, your child with him, to warm those parts of your heart that you think are frozen over.

Scully sighed. Her tears were exhausted. Monica's words soothed her though, gave her a small flame of hope and truth to foster.

"You always know just what to say," Scully told her, "To make me feel better just when I think I never will."

"I could always make whale noises again," Monica offered

They laughed together for a few moments. It felt good to laugh, and bittersweet at the same time. She supposed that Monica was right, and that their child growing within her was reason enough to carry on.

"Go to sleep, Dana. I'll come over tomorrow and make dinner."

"Night, Mon."

"Night, Dana."


	2. Polar Opposites

**Author's Note: Thanks for the reviews! Glad you are enjoying it. I realize that there were a few errors in the first chapter, and I apologize for that. Sometimes I forget that I'm trying to write along a timeline and add things in at the wrong time or phrase it the wrong way. My bad. Lol. Anyway, on with the story! I apologize ahead of time for any timeline errors in this chapter ... **

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**_Chapter 2:_**

Doggett was the first one in the office Thursday morning; or, at least, he had meant to be. When he got there and the door was already open, he walked in with a smile and a hello ready for his partner. Who he found, however, was Scully. She was seated at the desk, hands folded over her pregnant stomach. The sight of her caught him off guard, and he blurted out the first words that came to his mind.

"Agent Scully, what are you doing here?"

She gave him a curious look, one eyebrow arched.

"What I meant was, aren't you supposed to be at home relaxing?" He amended

"If I spend one more day relaxing I'm going to shoot someone," She responded evenly

He chuckled and set his briefcase down on the floor in front of the desk. He took a seat in the chair, unsure of what to do next. He didn't need to wait long, however, because she started to speak.

"This isn't how this office looked the first time I stepped foot in here. It's undergone a lot of changes in its time. I don't want you and Agent Reyes to feel like you can't make it your own."

"And why would we do that?" He challenged, "This isn't our office. We're just keeping up on the dusting until you have this baby and Agent Mulder comes back."

She smiled at him, thankful for his words. She didn't think he really believed them, but figured that he thought they were what she wanted and needed to hear. For the moment, that was fine with her. Things couldn't go on this way, she knew; pretty soon she was just going to have to accept the fact that the world would keep turning without him. Even if every bone in her body protested, insisted that since her world had stopped so should this one. It was inevitable - but today wasn't the day.

"You guys working on a case?" She asked, more to escape her own thoughts than anything

"Just got one a few days ago. Monica is pretty excited about it, she thinks we'll find something."

"What about you? Do you think you'll find something?"

"Hard to say."

"A simple no would suffice."

He laughed at her matter of fact reply. Scully knew him, knew of his reservations. He believed that it had something to do with the fact that they were so similar, that his doubts had once been hers. They probably still were, to some extent. Sometimes he found it ironic how things worked out: Monica and Mulder were so alike, just as he and Scully were. How fitting.

"You remind me of myself, all those years ago," Scully said softly, "So loathe to believe, so resistant to seeing. Your time will come, just as mine did."

"With all due respect, Agent Scully, I don't think I will ever be like Mulder, or Reyes for that matter. I can't just take things at face value and believe them to be the truth."

She laughed, a rich sound that carried the echo of her wisdom. That laugh made him feel as if he were just a rookie agent again, although he couldn't say why.

"I wouldn't expect you to," She told him, "I still don't. What I meant was that there will come a time when you've simply seen too much, when all the experiences you've gathered can't be simply rationalized away. A time when science and even faith seem to have nothing to do with it."

Doggett said nothing in reply. He didn't have anything to say; he couldn't say that he saw himself becoming a believer, but there was some weight to her words. She was a scientist, so if she had seen enough to make her at least keep an open mind then he didn't see how he could dismiss what she was saying. So he wouldn't think on it too much.

He watched her take in the office, could almost see the memories playing out behind her eyes. Several emotions danced across her face, some of them so fleeting that he was sure she wasn't even aware she was feeling them. Doggett had become very adept at the art of what he called "Dana Watching". At first he had felt guilty about it, unable to shake the feeling that he was intruding on her privacy. However, he reasoned that she was such a hard person to read anyway and so closely guarded, it was a miracle if he could glean anything from her at all.

John would never say it, but he had come to realize that Scully was a plethora of silent truths, a veritable cornucopia of hidden strengths. Several times in the span of mere moments he would catch glimpses of the way her heart broke and rebuilt itself, of the way her mind would destroy the hope of her heart only to watch it sprout from the ashes stronger and more determined. She was an unwitting paradox, a source of constant fascination for him. She was unlike any woman he had ever met; even his ex wife was simple compared to her.

"So, what's the case?" She said then, disrupting his train of thought

"Are you really interested, or are you just trying to make conversation while you wait for Monica?" He challenged

She smiled.

"Actually, I came to talk to you."

He was taken aback by her answer. Talk to him? What could she possibly want to talk to him about? He was horrible at talking. Monica was much better suited to this kind of thing. He would most likely say the wrong thing and just make whatever it was she was feeling worse.

"You look surprised," She commented

"I am," He answered honestly, "I'm not the best with words, and well …"

"You figured you'd be the last person I'd want to talk to," She finished for him

He nodded.

"That's actually what I wanted to talk to you about. I know that we got off to a rough start, Agent Doggett, and that was my fault. I was wrong to judge you so quickly. You've always had my back. You may not agree with what I have to say, but you always let me say it. That alone is reason enough in my book to warrant respect, but more than that I consider you a friend. I guess I just wanted to say thank you."

He was touched. Doggett knew what it must have taken her to admit that. He also knew that, had she been less of a person, she would not have admitted it at all.

"I'm glad you feel that way, Agent Scully," He replied, smiling at her, "I don't want you to see me as the enemy. I'll help you any way I can. And I hope you know that I'm not trying to replace Mulder."

She actually out and out laughed at that, catching him off guard. She was good at that.

"You and Mulder are like polar opposites, Agent Doggett," She informed him, "Now, Monica on the other hand…"

She let the sentence trail off and he laughed as well. He found it strange how she did that, laced something so serious with a ribbon of humor. His father had told him once that there were people who were just naturally serious and then there were those who had a natural sense of humor about them. He, his father had told him, was the former. She, then, must be the latter. She wasn't funny in a blatant way that reminded someone of a comedian, but in an easy way that made her disarming.

"Speaking of Monica, where is she?" Scully asked

"That's a good question."

"Which means you have no idea," She retorted

"Exactly. I'm starting to think you're a mind reader, Agent Scully."

"Nowhere near it. I've just had eight years to figure out all the secret nuisances of the male language."

"Men don't have a language, they just use hand signals."

They both glanced up to see Monica step into the office, a broad grin on her face.

"Sorry, John, couldn't resist."

"Off to an early start, I see," He replied

Scully laughed and stood carefully. She felt better knowing that she had explained herself, at least a little bit.

"Well, I'll leave you two to your teasing," She told them, "I'm gonna head back to the house. My feet are killing me."

"Want me to stop by after work?" Monica offered

"No, I'm fine. Today is an okay day," She assured her

"Okay," Monica acquiesced, "Call if you need anything."

"Would you quit worrying? I'm fine, I promise."

"I'm not doing it for you," Monica told her, smiling, "I'm doing it for me."

"Uh huh," She agreed, but sounded unconvinced, "I'm off to a bubble bath. Fight nice children."

The sound of their laughter followed her to the elevator like a comforting wind.


End file.
